


An Inexhaustible Moon

by eurydice72



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 05:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydice72/pseuds/eurydice72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four nights. Two lonely people. One inexhaustible bond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Starts out immediately after 1x10, and goes AU from there (mostly).
> 
> Written with the song "Falling Slowly" as inspiration, though I threw out the latter part of the song where they part ways because they've learned/taken what they can from each other, lol. I wanted to write something romantic, not sad. And this is what happened...

Not even a day of hard traveling could quell Gwen’s euphoria. She loved her job – really, she did – but the satisfaction she received fulfilling her duties around the castle paled in comparison to what they had accomplished in Ealdor. They’d saved an entire village. They’d freed good, hard-working people from a tyranny that would have crushed them, if not outright destroyed them. They had acted with honor, and in return, were rewarded with the knowledge the villagers could now live, and thrive, in peace.

A far cry from fetching extra blankets for Morgana. 

When Arthur halted their journey for the day, she saw to their evening meal while Morgana prepared the bedding and the men gathered firewood to last the night. Supper was filled with surprising laughter, with Merlin’s stories of Ealdor, and with smiles both freely given and received, but soon enough, the sky was ink, and yawns too frequent to ignore.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Arthur announced.

The soft touch of Morgana’s hand on her arm stopped Gwen from volunteering to help Merlin clean up. Together, they rose and crossed to the patch of ground Morgana had claimed for their beds.

Gwen eyed the placement dubiously. “Will you be warm enough this far from the fire?”

“The slight chill may keep me from dreaming.” Morgana cast a furtive glance back at the men. “I’d rather be ill rested than have to worry about uncomfortable explanations in the morning.”

In Gwen’s mind, it would have been easier to simply admit at least part of the truth, but the nightmares were not hers to suffer, nor the potential awkwardness hers to bear.

“We’ll be back in Camelot tomorrow. I’m sure Gaius will be prepared for your return.”

No more mention of dreams, no more hints of a long night ahead. Gwen crawled under the blanket with Morgana and laid motionless, even after the breathing at her side grew long and deep.

Her thoughts kept straying. To how valiantly the people of Ealdor had fought. To Merlin’s grief as he stood by his childhood friend’s funeral pyre. To Arthur’s staunch determination to battle to the end, his blade slashing through the air with all the passion any single man could muster. Her emotions were in turmoil, but one surpassed everything else, in spite of her efforts to squelch it as soon as she recognized it.

Pride.

For all of them. For their ardent commitment to doing the right thing. Every one of them had leapt into the fray with little thought to the consequences each might suffer. It was more important to save Ealdor than worry about their own petty, protected lives. Even Arthur had understood that in the end.

The night became heavy with the forest’s slumber, the moon sliding across the sky until the trees obscured it. Morgana’s sleep remained tranquil, and with each passing minute, the chill settled deeper into Gwen’s bones. She watched the fire, and when Arthur abandoned it for another patrol, she eased the blanket back and went to it, her footsteps silent from years of long practice.

Wearing trousers helped ward against the dropping temperatures, but her hands and cheeks were numb, the flickering warmth a welcome reprieve. Encased in shadows, Merlin slept peacefully. His gaunt features became skeletal in the firelight, a hint of what might have befallen him had they been less victorious that day. His would have been a loss greater than he could ever imagine. Too many would miss him - Gaius, Morgana and Gwen, but especially Arthur.

“You should be resting.”

As if conjured by Gwen’s thoughts, Arthur appeared out of the darkness. Though she had heard Arthur both bullyish and boisterous in her lifetime, his cadences now could only be described as oddly soothing.

“I’m not that tired,” she explained. Morgana’s privacy – as well as the lack of her sleeping draught – would not be betrayed tonight. “And I didn’t wish to disturb Morgana.”

He resumed his seat on the opposite side of the fire. He always seemed bigger to her when he was in repose like this. Even without the artificial bulk of his chain mail or armor. The fabric of his shirt strained across his broad shoulders, but he seemed oblivious to its protest. Perhaps his lack of self-consciousness created the illusion of greater size. Gwen didn’t know, though she silently chided herself for even considering the prince’s form in such ways – at least, while she was in his presence.

“The woods are clear,” he said. “I don’t think we’ll have to fear retaliation after all.”

“Then you should get some rest, my lord. I can wake you if I hear anything.”

“You can’t—”

She saw the moment he became aware of what he was about to say. It was the split second before he cut himself off, the split second where he looked across the fire and through the flames and actually met her waiting gaze. His eyes didn’t so much widen as they did freeze, fixed and firm as memory of their earlier valor returned, his as well as Gwen’s, and all the other women who had stood to fight with their men. She waited patiently to see if he would pursue his objection. 

“Merlin would never let me hear the end of it if I fell asleep without waking him.” His gaze slid back to the fire, and to the way it danced as he poked at it with a stick. “But I appreciate your offer, Gwen. It’s most kind, especially since you’ve had as long a day as I have.”

She let him off with a half-smile. “For Merlin’s sake, then.”

His answering smile was nearly lost with a duck of his head, as if he couldn’t allow showing such a weakness without the excuse of company. She wondered why he didn’t smile like that more often. It brightened his entire demeanor, stripping away the smug exterior he presented to the court and leaving behind someone completely different, someone even more magnetic than the prince who stood strong and tall next to the king. She liked this person he so rarely presented. It was a shame he felt compelled to hide him so often.

“Do you think he'll return?”

He spoke without lifting his gaze. She wished the fire didn’t separate them. It might be better to read what he meant by such a nebulous question. “Pardon?”

“Merlin. Do you think he'll go back to Ealdor?”

“Why should he? He made his choice.”

A flicker of lashes, but toward Merlin, not her. “His mother is there.”

Now, she understood. She did not always when it came to Arthur, especially since Merlin had come into his employ. He had never been a maverick, too lost within Uther’s shadow as he sought unnecessary approval, but the boy she had known – Morgana’s tormenter, the kingdom’s primary strong arm – was changing right before her eyes.

“His mother has always been there,” she said gently.

His mouth tensed, and he set the stick down to leave the fire be. “I don't know if I could make the same sacrifice.”

“But that's different. Merlin has had a lifetime with her already.” Surely, Arthur saw that? There could be no comparison, and yet, the sad distance in his eyes said otherwise. 

“Do you remember your mother?”

She stifled the instinct to withdraw. Though Morgana had been privy to the stories of her past, Gwen didn’t like discussing them. Too often in the beginning, people attempted to be kind by telling her everything they’d loved about her mother, as if filling her head with their feelings could ever supplant her own. She learned to avoid the topic entirely. Morgana only knew because of the close friendship they shared.

But in spite of their victory in Ealdor, Arthur dwelled in a melancholy place. Perhaps it stemmed from fears of losing Merlin, or seeing Merlin with his mother. Either way, Gwen owed him more than flimsy excuses.

“Vaguely,” she said. “I remember...laughter. And the smell of fresh bread. She worked in the castle kitchen, and I’d sit on a stool and watch her bake.”

Some of the hardness disappeared from his mouth, the corner lifting in the semblance of a smile. “Those are good memories to have. You’re very fortunate.”

“We both are.”

“I have no memories.”

“But we have our fathers. And I whole-heartedly believe they would both move mountains for us if they had to.”

Arthur sighed and leaned back on his hands. “I wish I could. My father's motives aren't quite the same as yours. His main concern is the kingdom. As it should be.”

He was slipping back into his prince mantle, which was the last thing he needed right now, the last thing Gwen wanted. “Just because he fights for the kingdom doesn’t mean he doesn’t fight for you, too.” 

“Only because I'm the heir.”

“No.” The single denial came out forcefully enough to startle both of them. Gwen masked her own surprise by making it look deliberate, and rose from her seat to come around the fire to sit closer. “Because you're his son.”

His head tilted, his eyes speculative. “You truly believe that, don't you?

“Yes. Why don't you?”

He had no immediate answer, though he didn’t retreat again, either from his assessment of her or back to the fire. She couldn’t remember if he’d ever regarded her for so long before, then recalled the morning in Ealdor when she’d brought him his breakfast. A new day had dawned for the village, and now she knew, a new day had dawned for Arthur at the same time. She’d simply been incapable of holding her tongue any longer, not after witnessing Hunith taking from her own rations to feed him. The fact that he’d actually listened to her meant more than she could ever have imagined.

“You see good in everything, don’t you, Guinevere?”

Nobody said her name like Arthur did. The way he stretched it out, savoring each syllable, gave it weight she felt in her very marrow. When he used it, she was no longer the young girl, the friend, the daughter. She was every one of her years, a woman now, and, from the way Arthur curled his tongue around her name, appreciated for it.

“Because there _is_ good in everything,” she said. “I’m merely seeing what’s already there.”

“You think Kanen had good in him?”

“I think he probably did once.”

“But now. What about now? You think pillaging Ealdor is the mark of a good man?”

She was ready to argue when she saw the twinkle in his eye. With an indignant huff, she swiveled her head away, lifting her chin to sit straight and tall and look at anything that wasn’t Arthur. “It’s not so naïve to believe people are inherently good,” she said. “It’s what we do with what happens to us that truly matters.”

“And what about magic? What about the sorcerers who bring evil into this world when they practice?”

“I know of at least one who used his power for good.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “As do you, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

He conceded her point with a slight bow of his head. “What Will did was…a surprise. But that’s just one act, one deed. We don’t know how else he used his magic. For instance…” He paused and frowned, as if the notion had only just occurred to him. “Why didn’t he use it to stop Kanen? Why was he willing to sit back and just let his village be broken?”

Gwen hadn’t thought of that. She’d been too caught up in the victory, and what it meant for Ealdor’s future, to give Will much consideration at all.

“I’m sure he had his reasons,” she said, though it sounded weak, even to her ears.

“I’m not condemning him, whatever it might sound like.” That was exactly what it did sound like, but his admission was shocking enough to draw her attention back to him. “He saved my life. At the cost of his own. But it makes one question whether the good sprang from him, or from the fact that Merlin was there.”

“What does Merlin have to do with a man’s choice whether or not to save you?”

“Because this is _Merlin_ we’re talking about. For all his fumbling, he has a certain way of bringing out the best in people.” He picked up his stick and resumed prodding the still strong flames. “As do you.”

Her cheeks went hot. It had nothing to do with the fire, and everything to do with the way his voice had deepened at the compliment, shy and sure both at the same time. She folded her hands in her lap to hide the sudden tremors overtaking them, but the aching pressure only brought to mind stronger hands than hers, what they would feel like if they were the ones quieting her riotous emotions. 

What was she doing? Sitting here, speaking to Prince Arthur himself, as if she had any place to do so. As if he actually cared about what she might think. Certainly, his interest in hearing opinions of those around him was more than it used to be, but that was Merlin’s influence. It had nothing to do with her, or any imagined flattery he might bestow. It was simply his training, as the heir to the throne, that ability to beguile in one breath, then besiege in the next. It meant nothing, and she was foolish to even hope for otherwise.

They sat in silence, motionless except for Arthur’s occasional roust of the fire, side by side and yet so far apart the distance carved a loneliness inside her she loathed. Tomorrow, they would be back in Camelot, and all the work of the past week, the coming together and joining forces, the solidarity of comrades with a common purpose, would be gone. Morgana and Arthur would have to face Uther’s displeasure for aiding Ealdor when he’d already turned Hunith down. She and Morgana would share stories in private of the deeds they’d seen and done, but she’d not be privy to what Arthur might boast of to Merlin, if he even would after Uther’s upbraiding. Their battle would slip into memory, shared, yes, but separately.

And that saddened her most of all.

Morgana made a sound in her sleep that finally broke Arthur and Gwen’s stasis. Gwen stiffened, and peered over the flames at the shapeless shadow Morgana formed on the ground. While no more sounds came forth, she listened, alert, for long moments, in case they did.

“I should probably try sleeping now,” she said, keeping her gaze away from Arthur. “Morgana must be cold.”

“She should’ve laid closer to the fire, then. But you’re right. You really should sleep. Morning will come before you know it.”

Somehow, Gwen doubted that. 

She rose stiffly, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from betraying the tightness of her muscles. “Good night, my lord.”

His voice drifted after her, like a warm breeze tickling along the ground. “Good night, Guinevere.”


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur had never noticed how quiet the castle was at night, until he laid awake listening to its ghosts. It wasn’t a deliberate choice. He normally had no problems falling asleep. But ever since the business with the unicorn, he found his thoughts too distracting to settle until long after the rest of the household had succumbed to slumber.

Merlin knew. The first morning he’d come in and found Arthur already awake, he’d frowned, looked at the bed Arthur had decided to make out of sheer boredom, then proceeded to grill him on whether or not he felt all right. Arthur had finally grown too annoyed to field his constant queries any longer, and sent him off to deal with some busywork in the stables, but he saw the worried frown on Merlin’s face before he left. He saw the same worried frown that night when Merlin lingered longer than necessary after dinner. Though Arthur dismissed him, he heard Merlin wander around in the corridor for hours afterward. Neither of them ever mentioned it.

Reluctant to face questions he didn’t know the answers to, he got into the habit of standing at his window, gazing out into the courtyard, instead of lying in his bed and staring up at the ceiling. The latter was an exercise in mind-numbing dreariness. He discovered that almost right away. The former, however, gave him focus. It reminded him of everything he had to fight for, and everything that had happened before. Though he never found the answers he sought, it worked to quiet the worst of the demons.

Sleep was always short.

This had been the pattern for nearly two weeks when he saw her. The hour was late, the sentries had reached that point of semi-alertness where they more leaned against the wall than stood straight at their posts, and the moon had climbed in full-faced gold over the parapet. A flash of movement caught his eye, and he looked away from the sky in time to see Gwen descending the stairs.

An echo of a previous midnight erased his earlier contemplations. He saw only her, and remembered all too well how she had listened to him, and, for too few precious minutes, helped him believe he wasn’t alone.

When she disappeared from view, heading for home by the look of it, he twisted away from the window and strode purposefully for the door. His footsteps seemed to clamor in the noiseless castle, so he quickened his pace to be gone that much quicker. He needed to reach her before it was too late. If he could speak with her like they had that night on the way back from Ealdor, perhaps he could find sufficient succor to find sleep early.

The courtyard was empty, and as he approached, the sentries resumed their rightful stances. He acknowledged them with a nod, but his gaze was directed ahead, into the street, searching everywhere for a sign of her. None came. He couldn’t even hear footfalls except for his own. But he knew the way to her home, and for the first time in a long series of mindless nights, he had a purpose more consuming than his own thoughts.

He caught a glimpse of her skirts around the next corner, and broke into a jog. The impulse to call out her name overwhelmed him, but Camelot slept behind their closed doors and shuttered windows, and he couldn’t risk calling attention to his chase. He waited until he could actually see her full form, and even then, it came out more as a breath.

But a single breath was all it took. Her step faltered, and she glanced over her shoulder in search of the source. The moonlight caught her face, and though her eyes were shadowed, he could see well enough to know she was frowning.

“Gwen.”

Saying it a little louder directed her gaze straight to him. This time, she stopped, and waited for him to catch up.

“My lord?”

His pulse had accelerated slightly from his dash. He expected it to slow once he stopped, but standing there at her side, finally able to speak to her as he’d wanted, he realized it wasn’t.

“I saw you leaving the castle.” That sounded completely inane, even if it was true. It also did nothing to ease the lines between her fine brows.

“Is Morgana all right?”

“Morgana? No. I mean, yes, she’s fine. She’s not the reason I’m here.”

“Oh.” She waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn’t… “Why _are_ you here?”

“I…was thinking about that night. After Ealdor.” Now that he faced her, he had no idea why the words he wished to come failed him so miserably. They had reached a point during that first real conversation where he’d felt safe enough to admit things he never uttered aloud. Like how jealous he had been of Merlin the entire time they’d been in Ealdor. Watching him with Hunith had been bittersweet, and not because he feared for the village’s fate. “I had hoped we could continue it.”

Her hesitation was clear. She might as well have worn a sign that proclaimed she was well aware of the difference in their stations, and he spoke madness by seeking her out. Maybe he was. It certainly didn’t make much sense, if he tried to analyze it rationally. All he knew was that his head was a tumult of unknowns, increasing in number every day, but when he looked at her in the moonlight, they felt surmountable. 

“You mean…our conversation?” she asked carefully.

“Yes.” Thank God, she understood his babbling. “Would you walk with me?”

She glanced around at the darkened buildings, and the silvery rays from the moon above danced across her face. The weariness he often noticed in her at the end of a long day vanished. Instead, he saw the soft curve of her cheek, the full swell of her mouth, the fathomless pools of her brown eyes. Morgana might be beautiful, but Gwen possessed an earthly loveliness that transcended superficial trappings. It surprised him that he’d failed to notice that before.

“People are sleeping,” Gwen said. “I don’t think it would be polite to disturb them, do you?”

He had been so relieved she understood, he hadn’t given additional thought about their surroundings. The fact that it was Gwen who pointed it out – who seemed to always be the one to spot his shortcomings – was embarrassing. Almost embarrassing enough for him to abandon his request. Why should she care to listen to him when he only made a bumble out of everything he said?

“We could walk down to the market, my lord.” Her gentle tone diminished the worst of his chagrin, though the way she looked up at him through her lashes carried a hint of boldness the soft tilt of her head couldn’t mask. “It’ll be empty, and you can speak freely there.”

Yes. That’s what he wanted. To speak freely. To let loose so much of what plagued him, because she might censure, but she would never condemn.

With a small smile, he nodded. “That sounds like a marvelous plan.”

They fell into step, side by side. While he was anxious to reach the market, he matched his pace to hers, slower, more measured. The hem of her skirt whispered against his boot, a sly tease, a delicate taunt. Gwen seemed completely unaware. He wasn’t entirely certain why he noticed it at all, except that he did. It reminded him of how she’d dressed in Ealdor, how comfortable she’d been in trousers and how disconcerting it had been to see her move so confidently throughout the village in them. It was much harder to argue with her about the women joining in the fight, when she herself looked more than capable of taking on a few of the men. It was really no wonder he’d eventually conceded to the women’s wishes.

The market was deserted, just as she’d said. Gwen led the way to the fountain at the far end, and smoothed her skirt over her legs when she sat on its stone edge. Arthur sat next to her. Then, however, he was at a loss. The silence suffocated rather than soothed. He wanted only to speak to her, but had no idea what to say.

“So…” Though it took several minutes, Gwen was the one to break their quietude. Bold, brave Gwen. “You wished to talk to me?”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. It did little to clear his head. Where to start? “I’ve…not been sleeping as well as I used to.”

“Oh? You’re not unwell, are you? Perhaps Merlin—”

“No, no, I’m not ill.” The last thing he wanted was for her to go running to Merlin with tales of his health. “And please, don’t say anything to Merlin. He fusses over me more than a mother hen.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Well, that is his job.”

“Perhaps. But it’s really not necessary this time.”

“But if you’re not sleeping—”

“It has nothing to do with my health.”

“I don’t understand.”

Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his knees, his hands knotting, opening, then knotting again as he searched for words. “It started with my father’s choice not to send aid back to Ealdor. I didn’t agree with him.”

“But you came anyway.”

“Yes. And he made his displeasure more than known when we returned.” He glanced over at Gwen, and was glad to see her watching him, listening so intently. All that was missing to reproduce the night in the forest were the orange flames burnishing her skin, but sitting beneath the austere moonlight created an equally welcome effect. It sharpened her loveliness, etching her out of the chilly air into a flesh and blood statue worthy of any gallery. He forgot for a moment what exactly he’d been saying, and had to blink several times to return to the present. “He could have demanded I suffer the punishment tenfold, but it wouldn’t have changed anything. I still would have ridden out to join you. We did the right thing.”

The twitch of her lips curved into a small, understanding smile. “Of course, you did.”

He couldn’t let her negate everybody’s contribution. “ _We_ did.”

“Yes, but _we’re_ not the ones unable to sleep now, are we?”

“Ah, yes.” He ducked his head. “Point taken.”

“You slept fine in Ealdor.”

“Because hours and hours of training can work wonders.”

“It exhausted you.”

“And distracted me. I was too focused on defeating Kanen with as few losses as possible to think of my own circumstances.”

“But don’t you see?” She rested her hand on his arm, the weight both delicate and strong. Though she touched his coat, the tips of her fingertips skimmed across his wrist. Fire and ice raced each other through his veins, and his lungs tightened as he stared, transfixed, at her dark skin against his. “This is what will make you such a great king when it’s your time. You didn’t let something stand in your way of doing the right thing.”

“That doesn’t mean my father didn’t have a point. If I’d taken the men necessary to defeat Kanen, our presence in Cenred’s kingdom could have been misread.”

“Is that what troubles you?”

“Partially,” he admitted. For all that he knew he’d done what was necessary, he couldn’t escape the fact that part of him understood his father’s reasoning.

“What’s the other part?”

“Trying to reconcile what Merlin’s friend did.”

She didn’t speak, but neither did she move her hand, like she’d forgotten where it was. Arthur hoped that wasn’t the case. He wanted to cover it with his own and feel if the bones were as fragile as they appeared, though he sincerely doubted they could be. Her skin would not be smooth. She worked too hard, and had done so for too long, for that to be the case. But if her palms were not callused, they would not be Gwen’s, because she wore the truth of her spirit there, for the world to see. Industrious. Honest. Willing to do what was necessary with her own hands, if that was what it took.

“He doesn’t talk about it, you know.”

A pang of jealousy sliced through him. Of course, Merlin and Gwen had regular contact. He’d seen them laughing together in the castle more than once, sharing secrets back and forth that he and Morgana were likely never to hear. He’d never realized how fortunate they were to have each other, until he wanted some of it for himself.

“It’s not safe to. Merlin understands that.”

“It’s not just Will. He doesn’t talk about Ealdor, and if it comes up, he finds a way to change the subject. I think it’s easier for him not to think about it.”

“No.”

“No?”

“He told me he left because he’d changed. He wanted more than what he could get in Ealdor. He probably doesn’t talk about it, because he’s moved on. His life is here now.”

“But he was going to move back to save them.”

“Because they needed him. Now, they don’t.”

She started to squeeze his knee, but then froze. A moment later, she withdrew. He almost dragged her hand back, but he understood why she’d retreated. Because he was the prince, and she was a servant, and even here, they couldn’t just be Arthur and Gwen.

And that, more than all the rest of it combined, left him empty.

“He must believe you need him more, then.” She smiled, as if that could replace her touch. “Perhaps he already knows about your trouble sleeping.”

“If he’s not mentioned it to you, then I doubt it.”

“I’m not the one he spends the most time with.”

“I believe that honor probably rests with my armor. His cleaning is impossibly slow.”

“Or it’s impossibly dirty,” she came back with, her tone still light. “You do use it quite a lot.”

“Out of necessity.”

“It’s necessary to walk through the castle in your chain mail when there isn’t any training scheduled?”

He opened his mouth to retort he’d only done that once, and it had only been because Uther had commanded his presence in a counsel with some of the nobility, and that he was to appear “appropriately forbidding,” when it dawned on him Gwen had noticed. Even more, she remembered, because that had been several weeks ago, and he couldn’t remember actually passing her in the corridors on the way to meet his father.

“It looks good on me,” he boasted, testing to see how she would respond.

“Most things do.”

“Only most?”

“Well, if I say all, there’s no room for improvement, now is there?”

He smiled. “Are you saying I’m not perfect?”

“Nobody’s perfect, my lord. Though some people certainly believe themselves to be.”

“Is that what you think of me?”

The teasing glint in her eyes faded, replaced by a more sobering assessment. “It’s not my place to say.”

“There’s no such thing here. I want you to feel free to talk to me just as you would anybody else.”

“But you’re not anybody else.”

“Do you fear what might happen to you if you say what you’re thinking? Because I give you my word, nothing will.”

Her mouth thinned, and after a moment, she shook her head. “No, you’ve never faulted anyone an opinion.”

“Then tell me.”

She seemed uncomfortable under his direct gaze, looking away and up at the stars pinpricking the velvety sky. Her hands folded in her lap. As far away as the heavens now.

“When Morgana first came to Camelot, and I was moved from the kitchens to serve her, I didn’t like you. I thought you were rude, and arrogant, and a bully, and every time I got assigned to help serve, I traded extra shifts with another girl so she’d take my place.”

Arthur frowned. “You preferred more work than serving me supper?”

“After I saw you spill hot soup down another girl and not even apologize, yes.”

He had no memory of the incident, but he wasn’t going to let her know that. It would just make him look worse.

“Do you remember how quiet Morgana was when she arrived?” Gwen continued. “Her grief was still so fresh. She’s always felt things deeply, like…they become a part of her she can’t root out. She would barely talk to anyone, and nothing Uther did seemed to make a difference. Then, one day, you showed up at her quarters with a pair of swords you could barely hold up. You asked her to come down to the courtyard to train with you because all of your father’s knights were away for some reason.”

This, he remembered. He’d only seen Morgana at meals and those times he caught a glimpse of her wandering like a wraith through the castle’s corridors. And Uther had constantly fretted over her. Arthur had been jealous, to say the least. 

“She didn’t want to go,” he said.

“But you wouldn’t take no for an answer. Morgana finally went with you, because it was the only way to get you to stop.”

“And she won.”

Gwen’s gaze swiveled around. “You let her win.”

“She’s a talented swordswoman.”

“She was a sad and distracted ten-year-old girl. I was watching from the window, Arthur. I saw the whole thing. I saw every mistake you made to make sure Morgana beat you.”

For the first time, he was glad for the darkness. It hid the heat creeping into his face at being caught out, especially after all these years. He couldn’t even argue with Gwen that she was mistaken. She was the daughter of a blacksmith. She knew more about swords and how to wield them than any other woman he knew. 

“She still won,” Arthur said. “And she’s never let me forget it since.”

“And I’ve never forgotten how that marked the day she started to move on from her grief. Because a boy I thought was insufferable set aside his pride to make a girl he could have been jealous of forget about all her pain for a few hours.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how that had answered his original question, and he felt too foolish to ask Gwen to clarify. But he was grateful for the honest reaction, and more than a little embarrassed she’d known all along.

“Please tell me you never told Morgana.”

Gwen smiled. “And take away her ability to gloat about beating you? Never.”

A breeze rippled over the cobblestone, lifting the hem of Gwen’s dress. She shivered once and rubbed at her arms, but otherwise didn’t comment on the impending chill.

“I should let you go.” Abandoning her company was the last thing he wanted, but he didn’t want her to be cold, either. “I’ve kept you long enough.”

“But…we didn’t resolve what’s troubling you.”

“I’m not sure there is a resolution.”

“Will you be able to sleep?”

He rose to his feet and held out his hand to her. “I think I will now, yes. And I owe that to you.”

Gwen glanced from his proffered fingers, to his face, then back to his hand again. The battle on whether or not to accept warred behind her eyes. No amount of darkness could hide that from him. After a moment, she took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and rested her fingers on his.

Though he wanted to lace their fingers together, the subtle heat of her touch just as he helped her rise dispelled the last vestiges of his anxiety. He didn’t understand why she was capable of turning the world on its end. The feelings she evoked were vastly different from those other women in his life had, and yet, his physical response felt all too familiar. She was soft, but strong, lovely to the point of distraction. Wanting to know more, to feel just how soft she could be, was enough reason to let go of her now, but even then, he took his time releasing her, their hands bound by some invisible attraction that required long seconds to break.

He turned away from her and the fountain to head back in the direction of her home. Gwen fell into step beside him, her pace seemingly as reluctant as his. 

Arthur cleared his throat. “If I have troubles falling asleep again – not tonight, obviously, but later, sometime, would you…agree to meet with me?”

Her quiet response… “If I’m available, certainly, my lord.”

“Arthur.”

“Sire?”

He needed to get this out there. If he was going to have her, he wanted all of her. “If it’s just you and I, I want you to feel free to call me Arthur. Not ‘my lord,’ or ‘sire.’ Just Arthur. You should have the same freedom to use my name as I do yours.”

“But that’s not—”

“I already told you, you’re not just anybody else. You can’t grant me your trust in one breath, and then take it away in the next, Gwen.”

Perhaps it was too bold a request. Asking for her company and conversation was one thing. She could explain it away as part of her duty. This invited intimacy that she might not be comfortable with. He should have considered that before ever blurting it out. Sometimes, Merlin was right. He really could be a prat.

She maintained her silence for nearly the entire trek back to her house. Arthur had to settle for the occasional brush of her arm against his, and the knowledge that at least she’d agreed to meet with him the next time his insomnia posed a problem.

“How will I know if you wish to see me?” she asked when they rounded the final corner.

He had no idea. He’d thought the hard part would be getting her to agree to it at all.

At her door, she paused. “Place a flower on your windowsill,” she offered. “I’ll look for it when I leave Morgana for the night. If it’s there, we can meet at the market, like we did tonight.”

“Yes,” he said, relieved. An elegant solution. He could bring the flower with him and give it to her to stop Merlin’s inevitable questions. “That’s perfect.”

Gwen smiled. The moon had shifted since he’d first caught up to her, the light that shone alone her cheek paler in the fresh diffusion. “Good night, Arthur.”

He bowed his head, but felt like he was going to float away.

Perfect.


	3. Chapter 3

Anticipation was the darkness before dawn, those last few minutes when the flowers kept their faces tucked within their petals and the insects waited to resume their minstrel ways for the day to come. It was the promise of what was yet to come, and the fear that it never would. Those who served the court in Camelot were well accustomed to the feeling, but Gwen had never experienced it as she did that night.

A bitter wind cut across the distant fields, whipping loose leaves across the cobbles and into the streets. From where she stood on the parapet, Gwen had the best view possible of the road returning to the castle, but her fingers had long ago gone numb from the chill, her heavy cape pulled tightly around her motionless form. She should have gone home. Morgana had dismissed her hours earlier. And she had, long enough to allay her father’s worries.

But as soon as he’d fallen asleep, she rose from her bed and slipped out the door again, half-running back to the castle to wait and watch.

Three days. They had been gone for three days. Arthur and Merlin and Leon and the half dozen knights King Uther had deemed necessary to catch the bandits who’d been robbing trade caravans to nearby villages. The original estimation had them returning that same day, and yet, nobody had heard a single word from the party. Uther grew increasingly short-tempered. On the second day, he’d sent out a scout to search the area for any signs of Arthur and his men.

The scout had yet to come home, too.

She knew it wasn’t her place to watch for their return. The guards were on alert. They didn’t need her vigil. But her sleep the night before had been tumultuous at best. She’d dreamed of Arthur lying dead in the forest, Merlin broken in a pile nearby, other bodies bleeding into the soil as the bandits killed the lot of them over and over again. She’d woken and retched, and nearly picked up a sword to go off in search of them herself. Duty alone kept her bound to Camelot, since Morgana wasn’t convinced something was wrong.

“Arthur probably had to follow them farther from Camelot than he planned,” she said with more certainty than Gwen could understand. “I’m sure he and Merlin will be home soon.”

Though Gwen wanted to believe her, she couldn’t stomach the nightmarish images that refused to fade away. Standing on the parapet kept them in check. It stopped her from thinking of what might have happened to them. Most of all, it gave her hope that Arthur wasn’t lost, after all. She might have worried about him in the past, but that had been as their future king. Now, her fears were for Arthur the man, the one she’d met in the market more than once since he’d chased her down because he couldn’t sleep, the one who sometimes didn’t speak of himself at all but instead asked her to tell stories of the castle and her ventures into the lower town. That version of Arthur consumed more and more of her waking thoughts. That version left her anxious in ways previously reserved for her family and Morgana.

The half moon had crawled high into the sky when a flicker in the distance caught her eye. It came not from the forest, but from the fields, and her first inclination was to ignore it. She wasn’t interested in animals foraging for food. But it didn’t stop and start, like an animal would as it stripped the stalks. It traveled in a straight line, slowly and surely toward Camelot.

She leaned against the edge for a better look, her chill forgotten as her fingers gripped the icy stone. Details were impossible, but the progress was undeniable. When it passed out of her view, she moved the few feet sideways to get it back in her sights. It was larger now, and she squelched the sudden leap of her stomach as the amorphous shape took more definitive form. 

People. A small group. A single horse.

Her hope ebbed. Likely not Arthur, then. 

They fell out of view again as they skirted the edge of the fields. She would have abandoned her focus on them if she hadn’t realized the direction they chose. They approached from the north, the path selected by the knights when they wished to leave Camelot without rousing the people. Few others utilized it. Even fewer would use it at night.

Her heavy cloak flapped in the wind as she raced for the stairs. A better vantage was possible from the other side of the castle. When the lone guard she passed shot her a curious glance, she consciously slowed down. She shouldn’t raise suspicions in case she was mistaken. It might just be someone who had lost their way.

The travelers were much closer by the time she found them again. Two people walked, one leading the horse, another at its side. Something large was draped over the steed’s back, blocking any distinguishable emblems it might have worn, but every once in a while, moonlight reflected off the broad shoulders of the man in front.

Her pulse jumped when she realized it was metallic. Armor.

If not Arthur, then one of his knights.

Hesitation no longer held her back. Gwen ran down the stairs again, and through the deserted kitchens, out the rear entrance of the castle and past the stables. She didn’t want to wait for them to come to her. They were obviously tired and would need all the help they could get.

She heard the soft clop of the horse’s hooves first. They spurred her faster, and directed her path as she wound through the narrow street. The cold no longer bothered her, the flush of heat from running dispelling the last of her chill. Perhaps it was just as much anticipation of news, too. In light of their arrival, the reasons were unimportant.

Though no torches lit the thoroughfare, enough light spilled from above to reveal the arrivals. Gwen tried not to gasp in relief at the familiar sight of Arthur with his sword drawn, or Merlin’s lanky body at the horse’s side, but some sound must have escaped because Arthur looked up, and his grip tensed for the split second before he recognized her.

She almost stumbled. Then, his shoulders slumped, and the angle of his blade lowered.

Merlin leapt forward at the sight of her. “Gwen. Go wake Gaius.”

She drew up short. “Are you hurt?” Her gaze jumped past him to Arthur, only to realize the shape over the horse was a third man. “Who is it?”

“Leon. He’s barely alive.” Gripping her shoulders, he whirled her around and gave her a not too gentle shove. “Go! We can’t waste any more time.”

She ran. Questions would have to wait.

She was helping Gaius strip back Merlin’s bed when heavy footfalls crossed the threshold. Gaius left her alone to direct them, and she stepped away in time for Arthur and Merlin to enter, carrying an unconscious Leon between them. His armor looked like he’d walked through fire, melted and warped across his left side, scorched along the right. His beard had been singed away, as well, and furious blisters and welts mottled his otherwise fair cheek. 

Gaius caught her arm and pulled her aside. “I need the most powerful cutting tool your father has,” he instructed. “We need to get that armor off him as quickly as possible.”

Leon didn’t make a sound as Arthur and Merlin laid him on the bed. Gwen tore her eyes away from the brave man she’d known much of her life and nodded as she backed away. “I’ll be as fast as I can.”

She tried not to think about what could have happened while she ran to the smithy. What could have burned Leon so badly? Where were the rest of the knights? How had Merlin and Arthur managed to escape? She wondered if Arthur would even be there when she returned. Uther would want to know he was back, and if there was a threat, he would need more knights to take into the fray. Answers would not likely come until she could speak to Merlin, and even then, there was every possibility he would leave with Arthur. 

Her fears and frustration had compounded by the time she found the tool she wanted and ran back. She opened the door to see a shirtless Arthur, braced against the edge of the table, and Gaius behind him, swabbing down a nasty cut in his lower back. Both men turned their heads to her when she entered, though Arthur’s gaze was the only one to linger.

“Good,” Gaius said. “You’re back. Finish cleaning this out, so Merlin and I can tend to Leon. I can’t tell if Arthur needs stitches until I can see it properly.”

She traded the cutter for the bowl and cotton, ducking her eyes away from Arthur’s. Up close, the wound looked even worse, the torn skin jagged as if it had been ripped from Arthur’s flesh. “What happened?” she asked, once Gaius left them alone.

“A creature that breathed fire.” Arthur’s voice was deep and even, no trace of pain anywhere to be heard. “We weren’t sure what it was.”

_Was_. Relief should not have felt so good. “So it’s dead?”

“Yes. Thanks to Merlin.”

Her hand paused where she’d been wiping away more of the blood. “Merlin? Really?”

“Well, it was his plan how to trap the thing. And he’s the one who dealt the final blow after Leon and I were injured.”

“What happened to the others?”

Arthur dropped his head. The muscles in his shoulders bunched. “Dead.”

Without considering her actions, she touched his arm, offering what little comfort she could. “I’m so sorry, Arthur. I know how hard that is for you.”

His skin was hot, his breath just as warm when he turned his head toward her caress. “Why weren’t you home when you found us? Nothing’s wrong, is there?”

“No.” The temptation to deny her surveillance almost won. She hated how clingy it made her feel. But she could never lie to Arthur, not now, not after he’d been so surprisingly eloquent about trusting her during their various midnight meetings. “I saw you from the castle. We’ve been worried what might have happened to you.”

“We?”

“Your father sent out a scout yesterday, because he was so concerned. Did he ever find you?”

“No. Though the bandits had circled back to cut us off from Camelot by that point. He probably found them first.”

They lapsed into a respectful silence for the men who had fallen under this latest threat. Gwen resumed washing away the blood and grit that clogged the edges of Arthur’s injury, taking extra care not to pull at the broken skin or exacerbate the bleeding. She had to rinse out her cloth more than once, but Arthur didn’t make a sound throughout the procedure.

His reasonably healthy presence was reassuring, but she realized quickly how she’d missed the sound of his voice.

“There.” She set both rag and bowl on the table. “Don’t move. I’ll get Gaius.”

Though she didn’t look back as she left, the weight of his gaze followed her the entire way.

Leon’s armor lay in pieces on the floor, while the man himself was neatly blocked by Merlin and Gaius bent over him. Gwen paused in the doorway and cleared her throat. The last thing Leon needed was for her to startle Gaius in the middle of his work.

“How does it look?” Gaius asked without pausing.

“It’s not bleeding anymore, but I think it needs to be stitched.”

“Can you do it, please, Gwen? I’d rather not leave Leon until I’ve covered the worst of these burns.”

“Of course.”

Her response was automatic, and she could certainly handle such a routine nursing request, but her palms were clammy by the time she returned to the outer room, the prospect of touching Arthur so intimately suddenly unnerving.

He was no longer stooped at the table, instead standing next to it with his bloodied shirt dangling from his hand. Though dirty and sweaty from the three days of battle, he looked entirely fit from the front, straight and tall and regarding her so keenly she stopped in her track. “I’ll just bandage it,” he said quietly before she could utter a word. “You should go home and rest.”

The last thing she wanted was to leave. “Let me close the worst of it.” That felt like a fair compromise, especially since his near dismissal had unfrozen her limbs. “I’m not tired anyway.”

With a duck of his head and a small smile, he dropped his shirt to the chair. “I wish I could say the same.”

Gwen bustled around, finding the needles and thread Gaius used in his surgeries. “Sleep shouldn’t be a problem for you tonight, then.”

“For a change.”

While Arthur resumed his earlier position, she had to pull up a stool to best reach his lower back. “Do you want anything for the pain before I start? Or I’m sure Gaius has something that will put you to sleep while I do it.”

“No, no, just do it. I’ll need to be alert when I make my report to Father.”

Gwen nodded in understanding, but she wasn’t convinced that was his only motive. Every time a knight died under his command, he felt it personally. He wouldn’t blunt his own pain when they had lost so much more.

He didn’t make a sound on the first stitch. As she pulled it taut, her eyes flickered to his hands. The knuckles were bone-white, his fingerpads pressed nearly flat into the table’s surface. His breathing hadn’t quickened, but that was through sheer force of will. Arthur’s determination to hide weakness at all costs was both one of his most admirable traits and the most frustrating.

“Were you worried?”

So intent on not hurting him, she barely heard the soft question. He hadn’t lifted his head when he asked, and she wasn’t sure if he kept his voice low for privacy or fear what her response might be. Her heart fluttered at the memory of her dream the night before. The truth was dangerous, but deceit was more so.

“Yes.”

“Because of the missing scout?”

“No.” She pulled the third stitch tight. She didn’t remember doing the second. “Before.”

“The first night…I already knew something was wrong, even though we didn’t know about the creature yet. Somehow, Merlin did, too. He tried warning me, but I was too focused on what I thought the threat was. I didn’t listen to him.”

He sounded surprised by that, though Gwen didn’t know why. Arthur certainly paid more attention to Merlin than he did almost anyone else, but in his determination to prove himself, he had the unerring tendency to get lost in his own head. 

“You were doing what you thought best,” she assured gently. It helped that she believed that with her whole heart. 

“I shut him out.” Said with enough quiet force for her to draw back, fearful of hurting him with her needle. “I didn’t think I knew best. I thought I knew better. Because he’s Merlin, and…” A frustrated sigh accompanied the shake of his head. “I was wrong.” He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “Just like I was wrong about you.”

She wanted to look away from the blaze in his eyes. Danger lurked there, the peril of opening her heart and soul to what it promised. More than once during their encounters, she’d thought she’d seen a glimpse of something similar, but it was always fleeting, like he was too careful to expose more of himself than was safe. 

And how terrifying was it to consider he deemed her just as dangerous? She would love to think they had mastered some sort of friendship through their conversations, but deep inside, she knew she’d been fooling herself. There was more there, in the way he sought her out, in her desires to witness more of him, in their unexpected needs for the other’s company. She’d ignored it as much as possible, because thinking about their prospects would only lead to aches she couldn’t cure. But Arthur, it would seem, was unwilling to ignore them any longer.

Gwen bent her head to try and resume closing the worst of his injury. “What do you mean?” Perhaps if he was forced to clarify, he’d recognize the precipice upon which they stood and withdraw.

He didn’t. “Before Ealdor. You were just…Guinevere. Morgana’s maid. Tom’s daughter. But after…”

“You had no reason to think of me as anything else.” She was letting him off the hook. Didn’t he see that?

He regarded her for several more seconds, time she felt all too keenly, before turning away again. The muscles in his back relaxed. It was easier to do a quick stitch and get that much closer to completing the task Gaius had given her, then.

“It makes me wonder what else I’ve missed,” he confessed.

Familiar territory. Safer. She could assure him as much as he needed. “I’ve told you many times, but you never listen to me, Arthur. Nobody expects you to be perfect.”

“Father does. If I’m to be king—”

“Because _he’s_ perfect? He’s made his mistakes. We both know that. The difference is to learn from them.”

His silence was a blessing, allowing her the time to bind off the last of the small, straight stitches. Only a narrow section remained open, but the skin was too torn to adequately sew. She dabbed away the few drops of blood that had seeped through while she worked and wrapped his waist in a clean bandage.

“All done,” she announced. She backed away, busying her hands with cleaning up, though it did little to distract her wayward thoughts.

If it had hurt, he showed no sign of pain when he turned around. His only weakness rested in how careful he was not to twist or bend unnecessarily. He watched her move through the room, always with a piece of furniture between them, his mouth canted in a half smile.

“I missed you,” he said.

She glanced at the doorway to Merlin’s chamber, but there was no indication his words had been overheard. Still… “I’ve become a crutch to help you sleep.”

“No. You’re so much more than that, Gwen. I know that now.”

Panic bubbled inside her. “My lord—”

“Don’t.” The smile was gone, replaced with the edge of anger. “Don’t do that.”

“I must.” She edged nearer, though her gaze kept straying back to the stairs. “Gaius or Merlin—”

“I don’t care. Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”

His desperate tone finally focused her eyes back on him. A mistake. She couldn’t escape the ardent fix of his gaze now. “Sometimes I think I’ve heard too much.”

He stiffened as if she’d slapped him. “You don’t mean that.”

_No, I don’t_ , she wanted to say, but the words were beaten down. 

Footsteps echoed from Merlin’s room, whispering closer. Gwen retreated another safe step, in time for Merlin to burst between them, a relieved smile creasing his face.

“Gaius says Leon should be all right,” he said to Arthur, almost ignoring Gwen completely. “The burns are bad, but his armor protected more than we thought it did.”

“That’s good to hear.” Arthur cast one final look in her direction, then nodded toward the steps. “Is he awake?”

“Not yet. Gaius says it’s better for him to sleep anyway. The pain will be easier to bear.”

“I’ve finished with Arthur,” Gwen said. She needed to leave before Arthur said something he would regret. Or she reacted in ways she’d need to apologize for later. “If Gaius doesn’t need anything more, I’ll leave you to get some rest.”

“Guinevere—”

“We should be fine,” Merlin said, heedless of Arthur’s attempt to get her to stay. “Thanks for everything, Gwen.”

She nodded to Merlin, then dropped a brief curtsey to Arthur that should have felt better than it did. It should have been a reminder of the distance between them, that regardless of what he might say or how she might feel, there were still barriers that could not be overcome. Instead, it merely hurt, because not once since Ealdor had she felt the need to enforce that difference, not when each had been speaking so plainly.

Grabbing her cloak, she fled without a look back. Her dreams might not be the same nightmares of before, but she was fairly certain they’d be just as provocative.


	4. Chapter 4

For five nights running, he’d left the flower on his windowsill, and for five nights running, he’d waited for her in the empty market until nearly dawn. 

She never came.

He knew why. Gwen feared what he might say to her when they were free to speak their minds. She’d made that abundantly clear after fleeing Gaius’s quarters.

But the rub of it was, Arthur wasn’t so certain what he _would_ say. He never was. He only knew he needed to see her, that the world that grew increasingly complex every day would make more sense when she was there.

That he needed her to smile and look at him with those ageless eyes, not because he was her future king and worthy by default, but because he was a man she wished to share her heart with.

He tried to distract himself during the day with patrols along the roads trafficked by the bandits, but the long hours with nothing to find provided too many opportunities to wonder what Gwen was doing, what excuses she made to avoid meeting with him. Merlin’s presence helped somewhat. His incessant chattering yanked Arthur from the worst of his ruminations, but the reprieve was always temporary. As soon as they parted ways in the evening, Arthur went to his window to watch the courtyard. 

The fact that he never saw her leave was only further proof she was avoiding him.

Morgana and Uther credited his morose mood to his losses in the forest. Gaius kept asking if he was having difficulty with his wound. One of his few smiles came with his visit to Leon after the knight woke up the first time, but its quick disappearance after leaving Leon alone to rest seemed to confirm what everybody already thought was wrong with him. Arthur didn’t correct them. What would he say? So he kept his silence, and went about his routine, and prayed for Gwen to change her mind.

The sixth evening, someone knocked at his door long after the sun had set. At Arthur’s call, Merlin entered, his hands behind his back.

“What is it?” Arthur asked, barely hiding his annoyance.

“I wondered if you wanted company for your walk tonight.”

He frowned. “What walk?”

Merlin hesitated, but only for a moment. “The one you’ve been taking to the market all week.”

Turning back to the window, Arthur kept his face a blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s all right.” Merlin edged forward, forcing himself into the corner of Arthur’s vision. “Nobody else knows. I haven’t said a word.”

He stayed unmoving, hoping that ignoring Merlin would be enough to drive him away, but now, just like every other time he tried this particular tactic, it failed to work. “How did you find out?” 

“It was an accident, really. I had to deliver some medicine for Gaius, and I saw you leaving. I followed to make sure everything was all right.”

“Everything’s been fine. I just…needed some fresh air.” 

“With flowers?”

His mouth thinned into a hard line. It figured Merlin would have seen those, too.

“Perhaps…you’re hoping for other company. I know that Gwen is rather partial to that type of wildflower.”

Arthur shook his head. It was pointless to continue the charade. He supposed he was lucky to have escaped Merlin’s attention this long. “It doesn’t matter. If she’s not there, she can’t see them.”

“So give them to her directly. Or if you want, I can—”

“No.” As tempting as it was to have an intermediary, he’d feel even more helpless if he gave into it. “How did you even know? Did she talk to you?”

“About you? No, but she doesn’t have to. It’s not like I don’t spend a lot of my time with you, Arthur. I have eyes. I can see how you care about each other.”

His heart leapt at the acknowledgement of Gwen’s affections, albeit from a third party. But even that wasn’t enough to overcome what she saw as insurmountable obstacles. She would have met with him, then, instead of hidden away, ignoring what he was finding more and more difficult to refute. 

When he didn’t immediately respond, Merlin sighed and shook his head. “You’re making a mistake.”

“It’s my mistake to make.”

“And you'd rather sit and wait and hope for the best? That doesn't sound like the Arthur I know.”

“It's more complicated than that.”

“Why?”

“Because of my position. Because of Gwen's.”

“You didn't care about your position when you came to help in Ealdor. You did what you knew you had to, regardless of what Uther said.”

“This is different. There aren't lives at stake here.”

“No, just your happiness.”

He would have thought he heard bitterness in Merlin’s tone, except that seemed far too out of character with the Merlin he knew. “I'll be fine,” he tried to reassure. “You worry too much.”

“Because it matters. What's the point in fighting for everyone else when you never fight for yourself?”

Merlin was so fervent, Arthur couldn’t help but look at him. Belief in what he said blazed in his narrow face. His body practically quivered in indignation. Arthur couldn’t fathom why it mattered so much to Merlin, but there was no denying his passion for every word he uttered.

“Fighting for Camelot _is_ fighting for myself,” Arthur argued. 

Merlin’s shoulders sagged, and he retreated from where he’d pressed forward. “A crown is a poor substitute for a companion, sire. You may be destined for great things, but I don’t believe anyone would wish for you to achieve them alone. Especially Gwen.”

There were many arguments to Merlin’s assertions. He was young, he had years before he took the throne, he’d have ample opportunities to find someone not only more suitable for his queen, but someone who would _want_ to be with him. Gwen had made her desires clear.

But imagining someone else in the role she’d filled these past weeks was beyond his abilities. Every time he turned to his side, he saw her expectant gaze smiling up at him. Every time the urge to bare his soul became too great, she was the one who heard him out. She was the one he dreamt of when he finally managed to find sleep, and it was her voice that cast aside the demons when he tried to battle them back.

He might not be alone in this destiny Merlin saw for him, but right now, the only one he wanted to share it with was the one who gave him the strength to face it.

Besides, Arthur rationalized, if Merlin could see how he felt for Gwen, others would, too, and then what would be the point of hiding at all?

“I might go for that walk after all,” Arthur said, striving for casual but knowing by the quirk of Merlin’s brow that he was failing miserably. He kept his gaze averted as he crossed to his wardrobe and fetched his red coat. “Though perhaps not to the market.”

“Will you need anything?”

Someday, Merlin’s delight in being proven right would warrant punishment, if only because it would make Arthur feel better. “Not tonight. You may go.” He listened to Merlin’s footsteps travel all the way to the door before adding, “Thank you, Merlin. She _is_ worth fighting for.”

“I know.”

The door clicked quietly behind him.

* * *

As Gwen walked through the moonlit streets, she forced herself to keep her chin high. Tonight, for the first time since his return, Arthur had not placed the flower on his windowsill, requesting her presence in the market. When she’d reached the bottom of the stairs, she had glanced up automatically, then chastised herself for her weakness. She had to forget how much she missed their meetings. It was bad enough going through her daily routine in the castle and realizing she was looking for Arthur around every corner, in every group of knights. Even Morgana had commented on how distracted she was. Looking for his signal would not help matters.

Except…the sill was empty. She’d stumbled in her surprise, and had to wave off the nearby guard when he moved automatically to help her. She stood there and pretended to check her shoe, all the while looking up at the window through her lashes, just to be sure. But no, nothing was there, not even a shadow of a man lurking within the room. She’d swallowed down the bitter disappointment that welled in the back of her throat and continued on through the courtyard.

It hurt. She was ashamed to admit it, especially since she had deliberately chosen to ignore his summons all week. Arthur had not sought her out to demand answers, but she didn’t know if that was because he was nobler than she or because he was finally fully cognizant of the gulf between them and didn’t wish to lower his status within the court. His continued requests, however, had satisfied a secret part of her heart, the one that wanted to believe anything really was possible. Seeing him give up brought her crashing back to reality.

Her gaze drifted to the moon low on the horizon. Insipid clouds tried to obscure it, but even behind their tendrils, the frosty light glimmered bright and sure. Though it was ideal for illuminating shadowy paths, she would only get to appreciate its beauty through her window tonight.

She wondered if Arthur would even see the moon. And if he’d care that he wasn’t beneath it.

As she approached her front door, she noticed the soft glow streaming through the front window. Though she often worked later than he did, her father didn’t always wait up for her. It lifted her spirits to know she’d have him for company a little bit longer, before she had to retire and attempt to get a good night’s sleep. She paused when the rumble of voices came out as well. He already had company. The corner of her mouth lifted. An even better distraction.

The door swung wide, and Gwen promptly froze on its threshold. Tom rose from where he’d been sitting at their table, his half-empty tankard left behind, but across from him, much slower to stand, was Arthur. He had his own drink, though his appeared mostly untouched, and his coat rested, discarded, on the seat beside him. As their eyes met, a soft smile curved his mouth. Gwen started to smile in return, her heart leaping at the mere sight of him, but then she remembered where she was – _who_ she was – and swept her gaze over to her father, away from temptation, away from Arthur and everything she wanted.

“Don’t just stand there, Gwen,” Tom chided. “We have a visitor.”

“I see that.” Her muscles slowly unlocked, and she guided the door shut. As soon as her hands were free, she bobbed a quick curtsey in Arthur’s direction. “My lord.”

“Morgana kept you late,” Arthur said. “I hope everything is all right.”

“She’s fine. We were finishing some needlework and lost track of the hour.”

Arthur chuckled. “Knowing Morgana, I think it’s more likely you were finishing her work. She treats her needles as if they’re all swords.”

Her gaze jumped to him, her spine stiffening. He had coaxed stories from her more than once about how she constantly had to fix Morgana’s crooked stitches. His allusion to deeper knowledge was out of place here, didn’t he see that?

Tom didn’t seem to notice. “But you’re here now, Gwen, that’s what matters. Prince Arthur stopped by to ask me something. To ask both of us, I suppose.”

“Oh?” She did everything in her power to hide the sudden flutters in her stomach. What was Arthur up to? “Did you require assistance in something, sire?” Maybe if she insisted on using his titles, he’d see reason again.

Arthur glanced at Tom, then squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “No, no assistance. I came to ask your father’s permission for your company this evening. If you were willing, of course.”

Gwen caught her breath and stared at him in disbelief. He might as well have asked her to run through Camelot naked. Coming to her father? Was he mad? There was nothing discreet about that. That was the very definition of indiscreet, in fact. Everyone would know. All they needed were eyes.

When she didn’t respond right away, Tom shuffled nervously in place. “Gwen—”

“My company for what?” she blurted. She prayed she’d misconstrued his meaning, though the possibility felt remote.

“A walk?” He phrased it as a question, and in that heartbeat, she saw the nervousness beneath his calm exterior. He was terrified she’d turn him down, even with her father’s consent. “Or we could go for a short ride, if you’d like. If we stay to the roads, the moon’s light should be sufficient.”

She hadn’t been mistaken about his intent, but as she stood there and watched the doubts flicker behind his eyes, she realized she’d been wrong about other things. Like what exactly her companionship meant to him, if he was willing to defer to her father’s word on whether or not he could see her. Or believing the man she knew when it was just the two of them would want to deny his personal truths just because it was too difficult.

“A walk would be…lovely.” She meant to say _fine_ , but one look at the hopeful expectation in his face and she was undone. 

“Lovely,” he echoed, and his smile brightened, the air in the house sparkling back to life with it.

Tom exhaled in relief. “Right, then. Well, I’d say be careful, Gwen, but seeing as who’ll be escorting you…” He glanced at Arthur, obviously unsure of how exactly to address his sire under such circumstances. Gwen didn’t blame him. It was all very confusing, at first. 

“I won’t have her too late,” Arthur said. He started for the door, then stopped and extended his hand to Tom. “Good night.”

Though his gaze jumped between the offering, and Gwen, and then back to Arthur, Tom grasped his hand and shook it. “Good night, my lord.”

Gwen gripped the edges of her cloak under the semblance of keeping it close around her against the evening cold, but it also served to hide the sudden trembling of her fingers as Arthur joined her in front of the house. Much of Camelot had already retired for the night, but a neighbor wheeling a load of wood around the side of his home caught sight of the pair of them and nodded in respect.

Arthur nodded back. Resting his hand in the small of her back, he guided her toward the market, only letting his touch fall away after they were comfortable in their casual pace.

“I half expected you to tell me off,” Arthur commented when they were safely away from her front door. “You didn’t look pleased when you saw me with your father.”

“I was…surprised. To say the least.”

“Why?”

The answer seemed obvious to her. “Because we can’t hide or pretend if you’re asking permission to see me.”

Arthur stopped in his tracks. Gwen halted a pace ahead, and turned to see him frowning at her. “Were you?” he asked.

“Was I what?”

“Pretending.”

The chance to end this, here and now, rested within her grasp. But… “Of course not. I’d never tell you anything I didn’t believe.”

His frown eased, and he returned to her side. “Good. I haven’t, either.”

“So why this?” They resumed walking, though he felt closer than he had before, his strong arm brushing against her shoulder. “Why go to these lengths?”

“You weren’t meeting me. I had no other choice if I wanted to see you.”

“Because we shouldn’t. Nothing will come of it, Arthur. Surely, you must know that.”

He shook his head. “You’re wrong. Something’s already come of it.”

“We’re friends—”

“We’re more than that.” The sudden clasp of his hand around hers nearly jerked her to a stop. Only the tightening of his fingers kept her moving, the soft, almost tentative caress of a rough thumb along the side of her palm. “You’re not running away this time. Not until I’ve said my share.”

Her nerves refused to settle, skittering beneath her skin as she looked back and forth along the street in search of witnesses. Arthur was oblivious to the potential, his head high, and she just wanted to shake him and tell him to wake up.

When he turned away from the market square, she frowned and looked back over her shoulder. “Where are we going?”

“Someplace private. I had it picked out in case you chose the horseback ride.” Smiling down at her, he squeezed her hand. “It’s not far.”

He led her through a narrow street, curving away from the center of Camelot and toward the rear of the castle. His steps were no longer leisurely, forcing her to quicken her own to keep up. He had direction now, and determination to get there before he’d finish whatever it was he wished to say. Every once in a while, he glanced over to make sure she was all right, each time with a small smile when he caught her eye. Each time, she smiled back, because the anxiety at being seen had shifted into thrills for the lengths to which he’d gone.

For all their meetings, for all the intimacy they might have shared in their conversations, never had he touched her like this, or for this long. She’d thought the night he’d returned with Leon had been shattering, his body bared for her to tend. But this, this was oh, so different. Really, this was such a simple gesture in comparison, chaste and companionable, and if he hadn’t already denied her claim they were merely friends, she might have accepted it with a little more grace. As it was, when his battle-callused fingers skimmed over hers, small tremors undulated through her body, rippling up her arms, down her back, into her legs until she wondered if she’d be able to walk at all if he kept it up.

He didn’t even seem aware that he was doing it, which made it all the better. That he did it to make up for all the hours they hadn’t touched. That he’d somehow overheard the hushed whispers of her desires, the ones she hadn’t even dared to acknowledge by the light of day. 

Time slipped away. It might have taken seconds to reach the small glen outside the city walls, or it might have taken hours. Gwen only knew she was there, and so was Arthur, and so was the ever-present moon.

“Sit.” He stopped at a pair of large stones that bordered the tiny creek that split the grass. Without releasing her, he kept her steady as she took one of them for a seat. Then, he caressed the side of her hand one more time, smiled, and let her go.

“Well, I’m here now,” she said as he sat next to her. She had to tuck her legs up under her cloak to make room for his. “What was it you wished to say to me?”

She sounded braver than she felt. When Arthur’s gaze ducked beneath the directness of her eyes, she fought the instinct to reach out and trace the slight jut of his lip. His unexpected shyness always kindled the fires she tried so hard to keep under control.

“This week...” She had to strain to hear him, and leaned closer to make out the rest. “…was it easy for you to stay away?”

Gwen frowned. “I don't see what that has to do with anything.”

“It has everything to do with it.” His head cocked in anticipation of her answer, though he still hadn’t looked away from the shimmery water at their feet. “Was it?”

No escaping the inquiry, though she had known this would likely be the outcome if she agreed to come with him. “Not the first night.”

“The second?”

“No. Nor the third before you ask.”

“But you chose to stay away anyway.”

“Sometimes what we must do is not the same as what we would like to do. You should know that better than anyone, Arthur.”

Her responses emboldened him, drawing his eyes back to hers. The hesitancy was gone. In its place burned the same emotions that had so terrified her the last time they had been left alone. He took a deep breath and spoke.

“I know...when I'm with you, it doesn't matter if I don't have all the answers. You don't expect anything from me but honesty and respect. I know...I dream of you every night, of how beautiful you are when you smile and I’m the only one to see it, of how beautiful you must be in all those moments I miss. I hear your voice all the time, when I’m asleep, after a battle, in my head. You haunt me, and I crave having you there, even when I know there is still so much about you I have yet to learn.” He reached out and brushed a loose curl away from her face. “Or especially because I do.”

The world stopped. Nobody had ever said such things to her before. Even Lancelot, in all his honor and attention, hadn’t been so eloquent. And she believed Arthur, with her whole heart, because it took only one look into his eyes to know he meant every word.

His fingers lingered near her cheek, and she tilted her head to strengthen the contact. The hands she held in her lap unfolded, one stealing across the distance to rest on his bent knee. The muscles were unyielding at first touch, but at the careful weight of her fingertips, jumped and twitched.

“I wanted to come this week,” she murmured. “So badly. Every night, I’d see your flower, and I’d say to myself, maybe he needs me this time—”

“I needed you there every time, Gwen.”

Her mouth curved into a gentle smile. “I know. But I didn’t want to, because then I’d have to admit I was the one being selfish in staying away.”

“You weren’t selfish. You were sensible.”

“Ah, yes.” With a sigh, she sat back and stared out across the glen. “Sensible Gwen. That’s me.”

“Not too sensible. You’re here now, aren’t you?”

“Only because you were so persistent.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“Turn down the prince in front of my father? I don’t think so.”

“But you’re not here because you feel obligated. I won’t believe that, no matter how you try and convince me.”

“No,” she admitted. “But I don’t see how it changes anything, Arthur. You’re still the prince, and I’m still just a servant, and wishing it otherwise never works.”

“It changes everything. Because it means we’re both fighting for this.”

“This?”

“Us.” 

He surprised her by reaching out, not for her cheek or hand this time, but for her waist. Scooping his arm around it, he pulled her onto his lap in a smooth, sensual gesture that forced her to reach for his broad shoulders for balance. Their mouths became level, and his heat seared through all the layers they both wore, and even then, she wanted more. Her nipples ached where they brushed against his chest, and her throat tightened until she had to gasp for air.

His gaze immediately fell to her parted lips. In the next moment, his hand slid up to her nape, cupped the back of her head, and held her utterly still as he leaned in for a kiss.

Contrary to what most people thought, Gwen wasn’t completely inexperienced when it came to men. She’d had her first kiss at the age of thirteen, when a new stablehand had taken a fancy to her and she’d been tired of hearing all the other older girls working in the castle talk about their various beaus. It hadn’t been worth repeating, not with him anyway, but others had come along over the years, each one diverting in his own way. She’d learned enough not to be startled by the press of lips to hers.

She hadn’t, however, learned how exhilarating a simple kiss could be.

His mouth was firm and warm, molding over hers with an effortlessness she’d never known before. The tip of his tongue tickled along the seam of her lips, each tiny stroke sending a fresh flutter through her veins. He didn’t demand more than what she was willing to give. He didn’t bully her into submission. But there was no denying the claim in his control, the sure slide of his mouth along hers, the way he nibbled at the most tender flesh and then soothed it over with his tongue.

She opened to him with a whimper, her arms stealing around his neck to crush her body closer to his. All their weeks of moonlit meetings had led to this, and still, it felt like it had been too long coming. Thrusting her tongue into his mouth, she tasted the dark corners he was so willing to share, then moaned when Arthur did the same. More. That was what she wanted. And then some more after that.

Her lungs burned when they parted, though Arthur’s fingers remained threaded through her hair, refusing her the space to move even if she wanted to. The look in Arthur’s eyes was awed and more than a little satisfied, while his mouth curved into a half smile.

“I know what you said is true,” he said. “But I also know that sometimes we have to follow our hearts, not our birthrights.”

She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“I am.” His broad thumb caressed the spot behind her ear, creating a fresh array of goosebumps traveling across her skin. “And if ever I knew a woman strong enough to do the same, it’s you, Guinevere.”

Just hours earlier, she would have argued that it took greater strength to deny themselves. That’s what she’d been prepared to do, to suffer the ache of what could be and hope it would pass with time.

Now, Arthur offered more, if she was willing to bear with him the load of fighting for what they wanted. There were no guarantees they would succeed. Tradition and the kingdom itself were against them. People would talk. Uther would rage. She was likely to be punished if he deemed it necessary, perhaps even banished.

But one look into Arthur’s eyes, and she knew he wouldn’t say such things if he wasn’t prepared to defend her to the end. Even more, he believed in her as vehemently as she did him. She needed to decide for herself just how deep her feelings ran for him, and whether or not this was a battle to wage, beyond the protection of their moonlight rendezvous.

He regarded her patiently, the silence stretching out between them. On impulse, she touched her fingers to his mouth, and was rewarded with one of his crooked smiles.

She would never grow tired of those.

“Then, I will, too,” she said. The sudden tightening of his embrace was mirrored in the furious leap of her heart, all surprise and excitement and anticipation letting loose at once. “I can’t go back to the way things were.”

“And I don’t want to,” he vowed.

And the moon gazed down upon the pair of them, wrapped in each other, ready for the world.


End file.
